


It Comes Back To You

by ParadoxMage



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Based off of someone else's idea, F/F, Lemonteamaker, Multi, Panic, Slipstream - Freeform, Support, Trauma, suggestion, widowtracily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxMage/pseuds/ParadoxMage
Summary: Winston calls one night to deliver some shocking news.The Slipstream aircraft has reappeared.





	1. The Origin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knight7272](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight7272/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! How are you all doing? I'm pretty good. Anyway, the original idea for this fic came from a comment left on one of my other stories, called Post-Midnight Snack. The comment was from someone with the username Knight7272. Here's the comment-
> 
> hmm i just had an interesting one-shot idea  
> emily and widowmaker stumble upon the wreckage of the slipstream prototype jet fighter that had crashed after the jet ran out of fuel and debate who tells winston and lena that the slipstream has reappeared
> 
> I thought it was great and asked if I could write it. Luckily for my sanity they said yes! Unfortunately this fic drifted pretty far from that original source of inspiration (and I'd be sorry if I didn't quite like the way this turned out), so I hope anyone reading it enjoys regardless!

While the ringing of the phone most likely signified nothing more than a telemarketer seeking to waste her time, it did give Amélie a reason to leave the preparation of dinner to Emily for the moment, something which she welcomed with open arms. No matter how much she and Lena taught her and encouraged her, she still felt like she was absolutely useless in a kitchen, so any excuse to leave was a welcome one.

 

Quickly indicating to the redhead that she would retrieve the phone, she moved through their kitchen and over to where the ringing device sat perched on its cradle. Picking it up she glanced at the caller id, the mild annoyance at an expected spam call quickly evaporating as her eyes fell on a photo of Lena, Emily and herself with the person who was trying to contact them.

 

“Bonjour Winston.”

“Oh, hello Amélie. How are all of you doing?”

Amélie frowned slightly. The scientists usually jovial voice was lined with something much heavier. If they were face to face she had a feeling that his eyes would be filled with sadness behind their square lenses.

 

“We are all doing quite well. Are you?”

A sigh came through over the phone, followed by words that did nothing but surprise her. “Is Lena with you?”

 

Frown deepening, eyelids knitting close, she replied. “No, it’s just Emily and me right now. She’s running a few errands and will probably be back in a few minutes if you wish to speak to her.”

“No.”

Something was definitely wrong. She couldn’t remember the last time Winston hadn’t wanted to speak with Lena. The two were the closest of friends. Clearly something was going on.

“Winston? What is wrong? Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” There was a pause, as though he was gathering his strength. When he did speak, the words came out in a rush, as though he wanted to be done with saying them.

 

⬦ ⬦ ⬦

 

Emily looked up from the onions she had been dicing when she heard the phone drop from Amélie’s hand, hitting the floor with a dull clunk.

 

“Amé? What’s wrong? Are you having a relapse? Should I call Angela?”

  
“Non.”

 

Reaching down, the french woman picked up the discarded phone, holding it up to her ear to finish whatever conversation had affected her so dramatically.

 

As Amélie ended the call as quickly as possible while still remaining polite, Emily watched with confusion and worry. The look on Amélie’s face… She looked as though someone had died.

 

With the lives she and Lena led, that wasn’t impossible either.

 

Waiting with bated breath and worried eyes, she kept her gaze locked to Amélie as she set the phone down gently in its cradle. Amélie remained in that position for a moment, hands firmly planted on the marble counter, taking deep, measured breaths.

 

Turning to face Emily after a brief pause, she read the question in her eyes and quickly formed a reply.

 

“It’s the Slipstream. They found it.”

 

Emily’s eyes widened in shock. Of all the things she had imagined hearing, all of the terrible things she had pictured in her mind's eye, this was something she’d never expected.

 

Quietly raising a hand to her mouth, understanding dawned in her eyes. Amélie only nodded in reply, their thoughts mirroring each others.

 

“Has anyone told Lena yet?”

 

Amélie shook her head. “Winston said he thought it best to leave it to us. In his words ‘who better to give her news like this than people she loves and trusts completely.’ He does have a point.”

 

Emily nodded. Winston was right. When Lena heard about this… 

 

Tearing herself away from her thoughts, Emily noticed something odd. Amélie was looking at the ground quietly, her expression almost pained. 

 

“What is it?” Emily closed the distance between them, grabbing Amé’s blue hands in her own pink ones.

 

Amélie kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet the redheads searching gaze.

 

Directing her words to the floor she said “I think it is best if you tell her.”

 

She may have remained exactly as she was a moment before, but inside, Emily was reeling.

 

“What? Why?”

 

It never crossed her mind that Amélie simply wanted to spare herself the pain of relating the information. It simply wasn’t in her nature. No, there was some other motive at play.

 

She got her answer a moment later. After taking a moment to collect herself, Amélie finally met her eyes.

 

The golden orbs seemed to have lost their luster. She looked like someone had carved a piece out of her heart.

 

“It is just that… you have known Lena longer than I have, have loved her longer than I have. You know her inside out and she knows you. And, you did not spend a good amount of time trying to kill her.”

At that she gave a dark, bitter chuckle. 

“I simply think it would be better for her to hear this news from you. You are someone she trusts completely, loves completely. It will make things easier if I am not there.”

 

Emily’s eyes clouded over with a thin film of tears. That one of the women she loved would devalue herself so, debase herself like this. It broke her heart to witness it. But she could correct such misguided notions, and she was more than happy to.

 

“You…”

 

Amélie raised her eyes from the very interesting spot on the floor where she’d dropped them, meeting Emily’s gaze.

 

“...Are a complete idiot!”

 

Amélie could do little more than blink in surprise as the sadness in Emily’s eyes gave way to anger.

 

“Do you honestly think that Lena doesn’t care about you, doesn’t trust you, doesn’t love you?!” 

 

Amélie could only watch as Emily switched from sadness to a full on rant in record time. She didn’t try to get in the way though, knowing from experience that there was no stopping her once she got like this.

 

”What, do you think we keep you around because you’re a good shag or something?! We both love you so much. Yeah we’ve known each other longer but that doesn’t devalue how we feel about you. Do you honestly doubt that?”

 

As Emily’s (completely justified, at least in her mind) anger subsided, she was left staring at Amélie, clearly expecting an answer.

 

Amélie just looked at her for a moment, before a small smile graced her face.

 

“After a display like that I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

 

Emily couldn’t help but grin at that, the blush that still colored her cheeks now a mark of embarrassment rather than anger.

 

“So…” Amélie started, clearly still wondering about how things would proceed.

 

“We tell her together you fucking idiot, or do I need to go off on you twice in one night?”

 

“ _Non_ _madame_.”

 

Emily smiled a rather wicked smile at that. “Now don’t start giving me any ideas. I still haven’t gotten a chance to wear that lovely latex outfit I bought last month and I think I’d quite enjoy hearing you saying that in a different situation.”

 

Amélie smiled, the grin turning just slightly wicked as her mind raced off on a rather lascivious tangent. “It would be only fair that you got to return the favor.”

 

Emily’s smile was just as devilish. “You’re going to regret those words. Lena and I couldn’t sit down for the next two days after that. Don’t think I won’t do the same.”

 

Amélie chuckled. “Promises, promises.”

 

It was too much for them. Staring at each other intently, first Emily and then Amélie began to have difficulty suppressing the sudden urge to laugh. Emily broke first, Amélie following a second after, the two of them only being set off further by the laughter of the other. But neither of them complained. Some levity was exactly what they needed right now.

 

Eventually, wiping tears from their eyes, they finally worked their way through the seemingly endless tide of laughter.

 

They looked at each other, all business now.

 

“What do we do now?” asked Amélie, clearly thinking about the conversation looming in the near future.

 

“Now? We finish making dinner.”

 

“And after that?”

 

Emily’s entire being radiated resolve. “We sit Lena down and we tell her that something has happened. And we tell her. And help her however we can.”

 

Amélie nodded sharply in agreement. “And I almost thought I might get a break from helping you cook.”

 

Emily smiled at that, but Amé’s attempt to bring light to the mood was only partially successful. Both of their thoughts were heavy with what the near future would hold, but they were both sure that they would do whatever they could to help Lena through this. She deserved nothing less.

 

With tension still buzzing through them, it was almost a relief when they heard the door opening, with Lena’s familiar declaration of her arrival echoing through the flat.

 

Giving each other a quick look in an attempt to strengthen the other, they both moved to speak to Lena, both glad they had the other there to help support them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp! Part One down. As you can probably see this is a three part story, with all the parts being about the same length. I'll be posting part two soon, but I'm taking my road test tomorrow so I don't know how soon. Hopefully it won't be forever. Wish me luck!


	2. The Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena returns home. Her girls have some news for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's chapter two! Don't have much else to say other than that honestly. Hope you enjoy.

Lena knew something was up as soon as she walked through the door. Instead of the usual sarcastic or cheerful reply to her greeting (depending on who was around to reply) she received only a taciturn acknowledgement of her arrival.

 

Venturing further into their flat she was met with both Amélie and Emily, wearing almost the same expression, one she’d never seen on either of them. If she had to classify it she’d say it was some strange mix of dread, sadness and pity.

 

Emily was the first to broach the uncomfortable silence, though she very clearly didn’t relish it. “There’s something important we need to tell you. And you might want to sit down before we do.”

 

Lena moved over to their sofa and unceremoniously plunked herself down onto it. She was starting to feel genuinely worried now. Clearly something had happened, something major that she didn’t know about yet. But what was it?

 

The other two followed, one sitting on either side of her, Amélie placing a hand on her knee and Emily reaching out to grasp her hand.

 

Lena’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two. She was starting to get a bit scared now. Had something terrible happened? Had someone died? What was wrong?

 

Before she could get her jumbled thoughts arranged enough to formulate a question, Emily spoke.

 

“It’s the Slipstream. They found it.”

 

The world around her slowed to a crawl, a wave of icy needles running down the length of her body.

 

It couldn’t be. How could they possibly have…

 

“Where?”

 

Emily looked at her with concern, ignoring her question. She had a query of her own in her eyes. Lena was too numb to care that her girlfriend was worried about her.

 

“Where did they find it?”

 

This time Amélie answered her question. “15 miles away from Gibraltar. Winston says that it simply appeared, buried up to the cockpit in earth, as though it had crashed there years ago.”

 

Lena kept her eyes fixed forwards, locked onto the opposite wall. She forced herself to narrow her world onto that single area, blocking out the worried looks from the women on either side of her. She catalogued the items on that wall, a picture of herself and Emily, a coat hook which bore the scarf she’d gotten Em for Christmas last year and her own trademark jacket.

 

She was afraid that if she allowed herself to fully register the information she might detach herself from the world completely.

 

Her scrutiny of the opposite wall was broken by a sharp slap to the face.

 

“OW!” She whirled on Amélie, confused and hurt, in more ways than one. “That HURT! What’d you do that for?”

 

“To set you free from whatever dark hole you were in. You were scaring us and we needed to know if you were ok!”

 

“You didn’t need to slap me!” she said, still annoyed, now rubbing her stinging cheek. The least Amélie could do was look apologetic about it.

 

“Didn’t I?”

 

Before she could snap back, a pair of warm hands squeezed her own, directing her attention to the other woman next to her.

 

“She’s right pet,”

 

Emily’s voice was softer, gentler, more careful. That did not mean she disagreed with Amélie’s action though.

 

“You completely shut down there. We were really starting to freak. Do you know what would have happened if Amé didn’t slap you?”

 

Lena didn’t want to see reason, she wanted to be upset. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have a bright red handprint on my face!”

 

“No, you would’ve continued to be basically comatose, so wrapped up in your own head that you forgot about the world around you. You forgot that there are two women right here who want more than anything for you to be ok and to help you deal with this. So do us a favor and stop being angry.”

 

There was an edge of steel in Emily’s tone that seemed to mandate compliance. But the metal was cushioned by tenderness, the same fire forged kindness that had helped to bring them together.

 

Lena, righteous fury frozen by the realization that she was not quite so righteous after all, turned back to Amélie with an apologetic look on her face. 

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have slapped you so hard.” said the french woman, cutting her off before she could speak.

 

Lena allowed her eyes to communicate her gratitude at Amélie letting her know that an apology was not needed, that she understood exactly what Lena was thinking and understood why she had reacted in such a fashion. There was no blame in her golden eyes, only understanding and worry with a tad of fear.

 

Lena realized that she probably couldn’t have handled this any worse.

 

But to be fair, she had just learned that the Slipstream had returned. The machine that had nearly killed her and then reforged her into something new. 

 

That cursed jet was the reason she was who she was now, the reason every event of the last few years of her life had transpired. Hearing that it had returned… 

 

It was beyond comprehension.

 

It took Emily vigorously shaking her shoulder to snap her back to reality. “Don’t slap me.” she cried, raising a hand in preparatory defense. Peeking out through half closed eyes, she saw small smiles gracing the lips of her two loves. She smiled too. At least she could do that much right.

 

“Lena?”

 

She turned to face Amélie, her smile fading as she saw that Amé was doing her best to keep her fear and worry in check, for her sake.

 

“I need to know, without any jokes or bravado, just plain and simple. Are you alright?”

 

Lena looked down at her hands. As she stared numbly downwards at her digits, a hand appeared from both sides, one a cool blue and the other a warm pink. The hands reached over and took one of her own each, twining fingers and holding tight. She squeezed, the tactile sensations helping to ground her, to keep her in the present, here with the two people she loved most in the world.

 

“Honestly?” She looked back and forth between the two of them, her brown eyes meeting hazel and gold. “Not great. But I’ll get better.”

 

“As long as I’ve got you two.” She added in her head, but at the moment she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Not now. 

 

But at some point, when she wasn’t quite so weak, she would let them know.

 

There was nothing more important to her then them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess there's only one chapter left after this. Should go up in the next few days. Until the next time, thanks for reading.


	3. The Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have to face our demons some time. Lena decides it's about time she did too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, last chapter of this thing. This was a lot of fun for me honestly. It was the first time I wrote based off of a comment left by one of you guys as well as the first time I wrote any Widowtracily/Lemontea Maker/whatever. I hope you all enjoy the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed the proceeding two as well.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Lena walked with measured steps between the tall pines, leading the way through the dark forest.

 

It should be coming into view any moment now…

 

Any moment now... 

 

She stopped short. Oh god she could almost see it through the trees. A hazy outline, an angular shape half buried in the soft earth.

 

Mentally she kicked herself. This had been _her_ idea, she had been so _sure_ of this. Why was she hesitating now?

 

A hand settled on her left shoulder, another one appearing on her right a moment after.

 

“We can go back if you’re not up for this…”

 

“We will not think less of you chérie.”

 

Breathing deep, she steadied herself, focusing on the women flanking her. They would give her the strength she lacked.

 

Taking another moment to inhale and exhale slowly, she took the dozen or so paces required to enter the small clearing which had become the Slipstream aircraft's final resting place.

 

And there it was.

 

Lena didn’t know what she had been expecting, but something about the moment felt… underwhelming.

 

She stepped closer, approaching a piece of corroded metal that might have once been a part of one of the wings. Moving past the fragment, she turned her eyes back to the main body of the jet.

 

The entire craft was rusted over, or at least what was visible above ground. Pieces of twisted metal that had broken off from the main body were scattered about the clearing, many of them half buried and covered in moss. The cockpit was shattered, the instruments inside well on their way to being reclaimed by nature. Moving over to an area of rusty metal just underneath the cockpit, she reached out hesitantly and brushed away the plant matter and rust, revealing a word that was still legible.

 

**Slipstream**

 

She sat back, staring at the wrecked plane.

 

She hadn’t really needed to check for the name. She knew that jet inside and out, had insisted on understanding everything she could about it before she went up in it. She could practically build a model from memory, she even dreamed about it sometimes. But seeing that word there, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the same craft that had changed her life forever… It made everything seem so much more real all of a sudden.

  


Unbidden, memories flowed back to her.

  


The first time she saw the jet, still under construction. She had thought it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

 

Talking to Winston about the special tech he was putting into it, the stuff that would give it the ability to jump instantly from one point in space to another. She had been so excited.

 

Taking it up for the first time for a simple test flight. Everything had been smooth, green across the board. The Slipstream was a pleasure to pilot.

 

The first time she’d tried to use the teleportation properties of the jet.

 

Disappearing, the cockpit of the Slipstream fading into mist.

 

Reappearing somewhere she did not know, wearing clothes she did not own.

 

Being somewhere that wasn’t anywhere.

 

Seeing Winston for a split second, reaching out for him, trying to ask for help but her voice won’t work.

 

Appearing in the chronal chamber Winston had constructed, feeling the ground beneath her feet and the air in her lungs for the first time in what felt like eternity. The sensory overload knocks her unconscious.

 

Winston bringing her a strange harness, a way to escape the chronal chamber, but she’ll have to wear it for the rest of her life. Without it she’ll disappear again.

  


As more and more memories pour into her, memories of nights woken up gasping for breath and clutching for something to anchor her and years spent with an almost crippling need for the harness and panic attacks and needing a clock in every room to make sure she hasn’t disappeared again without knowing and and and and and and and

 

Screaming, she flicks out her pistols and unloads both clips into the side of the plane.

Reload.

Again.

Reload.

Again.

Reload.

AGAIN!

 

Her throat is hoarse but she still yells.

 

Dropping her pistols she grabs a branch from the ground and smacks it into the side of the rusted out craft, denting the metal.

Another hit and a bit more of the cracked cockpit lays in shards on the grass.

Another hit and one of the wings is bent at the wrong angle.

Another hit and the branch breaks.

 

It’s not enough.

 

Grabbing a piece of the wrecked plane from the ground, she hurls it into the main body of the craft, the clang reverberating throughout the woods.

 

She runs up and punches the damned thing, not even sure why she’s still going, just knowing that she has to do something or the buzzing in her head will consume her.

 

So she hits it again and again and again. Her knuckles split open, spilling fresh crimson blood on top of the old rust coating the plane. She slams her fist into it again and feels bones break. Rewinding she does it again.

 

Hot tears are streaking down her face but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even notice in the whirlwind of her fury.

 

She hits the plane again and again and again and again…

 

And again…

 

And again…

 

And again…

 

Eventually the storm inside her fades and she sinks down against the rusted out shell of the jet, crying bitter tears for everything this plane represents, the life it took from her and the life it gave her.

 

There are arms around her, pulling her close, warm bodies around her but she can’t tell who they are through her tear-blurred eyes. She tries to resist their pull at first but she is too tired to struggle much, eventually letting them pull her close. She cries into a shoulder she can’t identify, letting out years worth of pent up anger and bitterness.

 

In that moment she is completely vulnerable but she can’t bring herself to care.

 

She sobs into someone’s shoulder while that someone speaks to her quietly in soothing tones. Their voice is strange, with two tones and two accents and two sets of words that overlap in strange ways. But somehow, though the words differ they are all saying the same thing.

 

It’s an expression of support and compassion and pure, unadulterated love.

 

It’s something to hold onto in the hurricane of emotions swirling through her mind.

 

So she grabs tight and doesn’t let go.

 

The last thing she wants now is to be alone.

 

And she isn’t, and won’t ever have to be.

 

That’s what the voices say.

 

“We’re here. We love you. We’ve got you. It will be ok. We’re not going anywhere. It’s ok. We’re right here. We won’t let go.”

 

“You are not alone.”

 

She holds tight until her tears are spent and she can think without her thoughts being thrown into disarray by the storm inside her head. She cries until she has nothing left to cry, until her eyes are red and puffy and her throat is rough from screaming and sobbing.

 

After a length of time she’ll never be able to measure she looks up to see who has been holding her as she came undone and slowly put herself back together, who helped to keep her sane as she lost herself.

 

Her tear streaked eyes meet two pairs of eyes, both with tears of their own.

 

She pulls them both close to her.

 

She never wants to let go.

 

She’s not sure what she’d do without them.

 

She says so.

 

“You won’t have to figure that out,” Emily says, smiling through her tears, her hair blazing in the light of the setting sun.

 

“We are not going anywhere.” Amélie finishes their thought, warmth shining in her golden eyes.

 

If she had tears left, she would be crying again.

 

Instead, she breaks into a wavering smile, one that is echoed by the two women she loves.

 

They sit together for a while longer, all of them exhausted in ways other than physical.

 

Eventually, when all light has faded from the sky, they get up and make their way back to the Watchpoint, leaving the Slipstream to its eternal rest under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Knight7272 for coming up with the inspiration for this, as well as being a good enough sport to let me use it. I had a blast writing this and I'd love to work off of one of you guy's ideas again, if any of you have any and are up for it. Knight has also requested I do a follow up focusing on the more technical side of the Slipstream incident and honestly, I don't know if that's gonna happen. I've been really busy lately but I definitely want to give it a try. No promises though, unfortunately.
> 
> And if this chapter reminded you of a certain scene from Forrest Gump, then I guess I should own up to both loving the movie and taking a smidge of inspiration from it. Sue me.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope to see you guys in the next one.


End file.
